


Looking Grim

by EvilDime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Child Abuse, Crack, Fun, Multi, Self-Harm, heavy abuse of clichés, mentions of rape (no explicit description), near-criminally irresponsible treatment of serious subjects, not HP/DM, suicidal, super!Harry of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is sent to Azkaban for killing his abusive uncle. He chooses to go mad rather than deal with the reality of his life, helped along by the Grim that keeps refusing to take him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Slightly Mad

**Author's Note:**

> Half angsty, half utterly ridiculous, cracky crazyness. Please, please do not take this fic seriously! It has a few serious undertones, but overall, it's really just meant to be a bit of whacky fun! ...This started out as a drabble that ended at "COME THE HELL BACK", but then I had so much fun with the idea that I kept adding a few words here and there over the years, until I finally proclaimed it finished. Hope you'll enjoy it, too. ^^

Draco Malfoy moved soundlessly like a shadow through the silent house.

The moon cast a feeble light trough the kitchen window. Following his pointing wand, Draco frowned when he came upon a closed cupboard. He was just about to recast the locator spell when he heard silent laughter.

Bending down to press his ear against the wood, he listened.

"How I know you are the real thing?

"That is easy.

"First of all, I know what a dog animagus looks and feels like and there's _worlds_ between my godfather and you.

"Secondly, you are inside my cupboard, standing on thin air no less.

"Me understanding your growling doesn't help your point very much, and let me tell you: appearing to people when they are closer to death than life is simply a dead give away."

...

"So, are you going to take me?"

...

"That's so... not fair! You take people that don't want to go and leave those behind that do?! What kind of a sadistic creature are you?

"- No, on second thought, don't answer that. I could tell even without your lolling tongue that you are laughing at me, and you're right. It was a silly question. You're an omen of Death, you're not supposed to be compassionate.

"Can you at least tell me why you're here?"

...

"Glad I was able to provide entertainment. "

...

"Yes, there is a reason I'm talking out loud. I mean, I figured you'd be able to hear my thoughts, but where's the fun in not talking when one can? After all, he beat my teeth in bad enough to make me unable to talk, like, ever again. But. Hermione gave me that neat charm for Christmas which they are incapable of removing. It speaks for me when I can't.

"She got it for me after the ferret hit me with that silencing charm, you know, and nearly managed to drag me off without anyone noticing."

Draco stared at the door in bewildered, mild anger. He had _not_ been about to attack Harry that day. Well, not to harm him, anyway.

"...So, I'm basically just making my voice be heard because I shouldn't be able to and it just might anger Vernon enough to make an end to this sad story that much faster."

...

"No, not particularly. I actually enjoy living quite a bit. "

...

"Why I would...? Well, can you call _this_ living?! You look more alive than I do, and you are the cursed Hound of Death!

"You know, I think people did me a great disservice when they cursed me with that title, the 'boy who lived'. Cause it's true that I indeed _lived_ , as in _past tense_ ,until that day, and ever since I've been only half alive.

"Ever since they got me into this hell-hole disguised as the epitome of normalcy."

...

"True. But at least if Voldemort had gotten me first, it would probably be over by now."

...

"No kidding!"

Laughter rang out through the doors.

"No, seriously, if I was given the choice, I'd much rather be captured by Death Eaters, possibly crucioed to death, maybe tortured in other ways before that, humiliated by the Dark Lord and whatnot before going back here for another 'vacation'.

"But I never was given that choice, now was I?

"With that protection charm from Dumbledore, I can't even off myself, though for some reason, my relatives are excluded from the 'no lethal damage' rule.

"Then again, maybe none of the injuries are lethal per se. It's the combination that really...

What? Oh no, that's alright. Don't worry. I like talking to you, and it's not like I could feel any more pain. Or still feel ashamed in front of anyone.

"So, you sure I can't convince you to take me?"

...

"Begging, huh? I don't know about that. I think my parents wouldn't want me to. Sorry. "

...

"Nah, I'll be fine. I don't really see myself surviving these holidays like I did all the others, so there really is no point in arguing. I'll just wait until it's over, and then you won't get off so easy. Believe me, next time you _will_ take me with you, because no matter how you look at it, there won't be enough of me left to still call the whole mess a 'living creature'.

"-Bah, at least his creativity is running low. You know, he used to come up with new stuff every day, but now we're down to some sort of a routine.

"I'm guessing my mind can take a few more days until my body completely falls apart, so I'll let you go now, right? I'm sure you have other work to do, and I feel another faint coming on..."

...

"No really, I'm okay, it's not like it could get any worse, could it?"

...

"Yeah, to you too. Bye."

...

Draco decided it was a good time to make his presence known. Slowly he turned the door knob and pulled the door open.

"WHAT?!? _YOU!!!_

"...I take that back. It _can_ get worse!

"Please, come back! Come back!!! I AM _BEGGING_ YOU, WILL YOU PLEASE JUST LISTEN AND COME THE HELL BACK??!!!"

* * *

Footsteps sounded from the hall as soon as Harry seriously started yelling for the Grim. A shocked Draco Malfoy retreated to the shadows as Vernon Dursley thundered down the stairs with heavy, foreboding steps. The man was only wearing pyjamas and looked exceedingly unimpressive with his hair in disarray and one button open on his nightshirt, revealing the disgusting, sagging flap of skin the man called his belly.

"WHAT is the meaning of this, _boy_?!" the fat man yelled and his walrus moustache vibrated in anger.

Draco couldn't believe his ears as Harry's only answer was a highly amused snigger.

The muggle, beet red and literally foaming at the mouth, pushed the cupboard doors the rest of the way open with angry, strong hands and grabbed the boy that lay inside.

Draco winced at the sight his once-enemy presented in the light of the kitchen lamp spilling out into the hallway. Harry Potter was clad in rags, but even the oversized clothes couldn't hide the fact that he was painfully thin. His whole body was covered in angry red, blue, violet and yellow bruises, as well as cuts; burns; whip marks;... the list seemed to go on forever and it took all of Draco's well-learned Malfoy self control not to gag and vomit over the very neat and clean kitchen floor of number four, Privet drive.

_Harry! Oh Merlin, what has this monster DONE to you?!_

One might wonder why Draco Malfoy, enemy of Harry Potter from day one and Death-Eater-to-be, would be in any way concerned about the Boy-who-lived. The reason was simple enough.

He loved the fucking bastard.

Draco had taken more than a year to come to terms with his feelings for the tiny, yet powerful Gryffindor, but when he had, he had devoted his every waking hour to scheming how to get back into Harry's good graces.

That day when he had silenced the black-haired boy and tried to drag him off, he had been equipped with a dose of Veritaserum, which he had intended to take in front of Harry and make him listen to his true feelings for him. It was a desperate measure, but he just hadn't been able to come up with a better plan. Also, he still had to keep a low profile so his father wouldn't get suspicious - he couldn't simply come out and tell the world he supported Harry. That would have been the signature on his own death warrant.

Shocked and unable to move, Draco watched as the fat muggle dragged his Harry over to the kitchen where he deposited the beat-up boy bent over the table. When Harry's legs threatened to give in, Vernon cursed and beat him again, then he got two lengths of rope out of his pyjama pocket and deftly tied the boy's way too slender wrists up against the table legs. Then he proceeded to beat the rest of his life out of the boy-who-lived-and-wasn't-happy-about-it.

All this time, Harry had his eyes fixed on Draco. The Slytherin had disillusioned himself, there was no way on earth Harry or his muggle uncle could have seen him. And yet, Harry seemed to know exactly where he stood. A little, ironic smile played around the once-heroic boy's lips as if he wanted to say: _Happy now?_

The muggle put aside the spoon he'd been using to beat his nephew with and grabbed a bread knife. Finally, Draco snapped out of his stupor. But just as he was about to throw himself at the muggle bastard, the sound of apparition was heard from outside and interrupted Vernon.

He frowned at hearing a knock on his door and checked the kitchen clock. It was only four in the morning. Vernon was _not amused -_ he had to put up his toy for now. Without any care in the world, he stuffed Harry back in the cupboard and went to answer the door.

Draco backed out of the room towards the veranda when he heard the headmaster's voice from outside.

"The wards have had a rather peculiar reaction tonight, Mr. Dursley," he heard the old man explaining his visit to the nicely purple-shaded muggle in front of him. "It took me a while to understand the message, but apparently, a wizard got into your house, not with the intent to harm your nephew, but rather to abduct him. I do not quite understand how the wards would have analysed such a visit as 'not harmful', but I decided after some thought that closer investigation was in order."

Draco had heard enough.

He could not afford to be found in Potter's house, seeing how he was the son of an evil Death Eater _and_ it had been made clear that he had planned on kidnapping Harry. He had to go. He did not want to leave the house and apparate home, still that is precisely what he did. But he was sure that Dumbledore's 'closer investigation' would be enough to get Harry out of this rotten place once and for all.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Draco was not to know it, but Albus Dumbledore was happy enough to be told by Dursley that Harry was alive and kicking; that was all he had asked for. Suffice it to say that in this light wizard's book, hatred would be the way to ensure that Harry was able to actually _kill_ Voldemort when it came time; he thought it good practice.

However, no one but Voldemort was supposed to get close to Harry Potter until it was time to fulfill the prophecy. Therefore, the benign headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry placed stronger wards around the Dursley residence, quite effectively shutting out Draco Malfoy as well as any other potentially well-meaning wizard who might have come to rescue Harry Potter.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

 


	2. Talking to the Walls

"YES, I KILLED HIM!" The chains around his wrists and ankles rattled as the criminal tried to rise from the wooden chair in anger.

"I KILLED HIM AND IT'S NO LESS THAN THE FUCKING BASTARD DESERVED! AND IF HE WERE TO COME BACK TO LIFE, I WOULD _GLADLY_ DO IT AGAIN!!!"

Gasps and disbelieving yells and mutters could be heard in the courtroom packed to the point of overflowing at the Saviour of the Wizarding World's words. The boy looked terrible, but all anyone seemed to be able to notice were his seething, red-rimmed eyes, protruding slightly from his gaunt face as he yelled his defiance.

"I WILL NOT SAY THAT I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID, BECAUSE I'M NOT. THE ONLY THING I'M REALLY, _REALLY_ SORRY FOR IS EVER TRUSTING IN _YOU_ , DUMBLEDORE!"

Those words were spat with venom in the direction of the upper ranges of the Wizengamot, where the headmaster of Hogwarts sat with a pained look on his face.

Now, the formally assigned lawyer of the criminal (they were not called 'defendant', as in a muggle law suit), made a valiant attempt at helping his charge.

"But, Mr. Potter, _why_ did you do it? I'm sure there must be a very good reason for you to even consider a killing curse..." They had never found the weapon, all signs seemed to point toward wandless magic - which was ridiculous, not even You-Know-Who could perform that strong a curse without a wand; however, the culprit never even tried to deny the deed, so the lawyer was fighting a losing battle from the start.

Just how screwed he was became apparent a moment later when his charge simply laughed. It was not a good laugh; it was crazy and cold and reminded all those in the room who ever had the misfortune of hearing it of the manic laughter of the Dark Lord.

"Why? You actually ask me _why_?! Brilliant!!! Come on, does it even _matter_ at this point?" He had to stop to get over another laughing fit. "Like you wouldn't fix me a date with a dementor either way! Heh, maybe he'll be more forthcoming about some intimacy than that stupid Grim prancing about, only ever _looking_ at me and laughing..."

Several people shook with terror at the mentally deranged boy's words. Whoever still had doubts about the need to lock up this young boy at the beginning of the trial - only ten minutes ago - was quickly becoming disabused of the notion. He was obviously a danger, to himself as much as to others.

Too many remembered the bad press Harry Potter had gotten ever since he entered the wizarding world, and especially in his second and fifth year. So his insane stories had been proven true when You-know-who indeed returned and wreaked havoc at the ministry? Maybe that had been just a coincidence... There were a few who now believed Harry Potter to be a harmless madman.

The decidedly larger part of the audience started to think that Harry Potter was quite as insane, and quite as dangerous, as You-know-who himself. It only made sense that he knew about the other madman's moves. After all, he was very likely in league with the Dark Lord anyway.

Harry's sniggering died down and his lawyer made another attempt at getting the boy to defend himself. He was out of luck, though. Harry was so far gone, he couldn't even tell the difference between the strange dreams that had been haunting him for the past few days and the actual reality around him. At times, he was even convinced that the trial was already long past, and that he was in a cold little cell somewhere far away from all that was light and good (though he wasn't entirely sure what that would be). Monsters were outside his door, sucking happiness from him and -

 _No wait - been there, done that!_ Another insane laugh burst from his lips and the lawyer, who had been about to ask him again why he would have had reason to kill his muggle relatives, gave a resigned groan and handed over the case to the accusation. 

Harry, meanwhile, lived in his own time, in the shadows below his eyes, in the hollowness of his cheeks, in the hammering headache that had been with him for over a month now, never letting off in the slightest. He had lived with this pain and these humiliations, had lived through them, and now they were such an integral part of him that he was sure he would miss them once they were gone.

"Why did you do it?" he thought he heard his lawyer ask him again.

"Because I fucking felt like it," he mumbled. Startled, he sat up at the sound of his own voice. The court room vanished and he found himself back in his Azkaban prison cell which he had inhabited for Merlin only knew how long. Harry sure didn't have a clue. After all, he had thought he was still at his trial just a minute ago, knowing at the same time that he had been in prison for weeks and weeks already. Then again, he'd been sure of that while he truly _was_ still at the trial, so he was positive he should be weary of his own sense of time.

He had snapped out of his delirium though when he heard his own voice. At the trial, in spite of the Ministry healers having patched him up beforehand, he had still been speaking through Hermione's gift. Later on, it had been taken from him, and ever since he had considered himself mute. To rediscover that he had a voice was a mite disturbing.

"What in blazes....!?" he croaked.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up on his hands and knees, then steadied himself against one wall to get to his feet. Why was he so clear today? He hadn't felt this alert in... weeks? months? years? Well, in however long he had been here, and then some.

He sure hadn't considered himself sane weeks before the final clash, and had even been given proof of his insanity when after talking to the Grim, he was paid a visit by Draco Malfoy. That had been one fun day... He sniggered. One of his favourite days to tell his grandchildren about later on, he was sure. They would love the story. All the nice blood, the humiliations, the insanity... Yes, definitely a story any child of Harry Deranged Potter, the boy-who-lived-and-let-die, or whatever ridiculous title the wiz world might have come up with for him by now, would simply _have_ to hear.

Wait. Children? Hell, no! Where would he get those from, unless they grew from the prison walls? It was _slightly_ unlikely that he got out of here alive and able to procreate. That was a bit much to ask for, wasn't it?

Oh well. He'd settle for one without the other; hopefully in the right order though. Being able to procreate without being - no, not worth going there. He shuddered. _Then again, think of the nice army of Potter-golems one could make. I'm sure Voldemort would love that!_

Voldemort... now here was a thought. Who was actually worse: Voldemort, who had killed his parents and got him into this whole mess where _someone_ had to adopt him - or Dumbledore, who had placed him with his loving relatives?

_Tough choice_ , Harry mocked himself.  _Hell, I'd choose Voldie over Dumbass any day now. Too bad I didn't think of that before!_

Before. Before this summer, when he still had a life. Kind of, anyway.

When he had things worth living for, like Quidditch, friends, adventures... He idly wondered what Hermione and Ron thought about this whole mess he'd gotten himself into this time. _Probably hate my guts for disappointing them so._ He shrugged lightly and moved on to other thoughts.

It was actually kind of fun to be moving from one thought to another in an orderly fashion again. It must have been a long time indeed since he was imprisoned, for he knew of a shit-load of thoughts, dreams, memories of past and future events and other, stranger images running through his head since he first lost it. Determining for himself what his head did was nice for a change.

Of course, he thought differently about that once the Dementors went past his cell.

He did NOT appreciate having the past summer replay in his head. Luckily, he was still so weak that he passed out before he could even touch all of those memories. There were too many of them.

* * *

It became rather obvious to Harry what the date was when he woke up screaming his lungs out one night (or that's what he called the darkness at that time anyway, having no actual days to compare it to). He bolted upright and felt pain filtering through him like never before - okay, so maybe not quite never, there _had_ been that one time... But he was getting off track here.

Well, it was a nice place to go, since keeping track of what was going on involved too much pain, so why not? He strolled a bit further off track and enjoyed the view of the pretty countryside laid out below him: There were memories of his summer huddled in one corner, and another set of bad memories over by that forest... Ah, and were the people dying over there his parents? Lovely, really. Just charming.

Harry frolicked a bit further down memory lane until his body had managed to deal with the worst of the pain. It was a good thing, he reflected as he came to, that prisoners at Azkaban weren't given actual food, but rather had some sort of nutrition spelled directly into their stomachs by some powerful charm nowadays. That way, his abysmal physical condition keeping him from even lifting so much as an eyelid, much less a spoon, had not led to his ultimate death by starvation that he'd been waiting for the whole summer.

_Wait, so how's that a good thing?_ He marvelled at his own thoughts. Hadn't he actually been wanting to die, not so long ago? What the hell had changed to end that desire?

It was not the only change, he noticed as he checked his sore muscles and blinked his aching eyes. There was definitely something fishy going on here. Ever since he first consciously noticed his cell, he'd been unable to spend his time counting the wall stones, as he didn't have his glasses to help him focus on them in the darkness. Now, he could see them perfectly clear, even though it was still quite dark around him.

That was not the disturbing thing, though. The _really_ scary change was that he knew their exact number and condition just by the feel of them as his spirit ghosted across their surfaces. He could not only see, but also _feel_ those stones.

Amazed, he reached out further and felt for the next cell. And the next. In this way, he explored the entire prison before the limit of his new ability was reached.

_Okay, I have no clue what in the world that could be good for, but it's... kind of neat, really._

He sat in one corner and suddenly, the stones didn't feel so harsh against his back any more as they used to. He _knew_ them now; if stones had names, he would have been able to call each of them by its given name. As it was, he merely let one of his hands slowly glide down the wall and felt a tingling sensation as each of the stones seemed to greet him.

He racked his poor, abused brains for an answer to the question what had happened to him. _An answer... question... think... Hermione!_ It was all he could do not to break into maniacal laughter again at the turn his thoughts had taken. Then he blinked his newly sharpened eyes and remembered that there was no-one to hear him.

All things considered...

He broke into gales of laughter that would have been quite frightening, really, to anyone walking the prison halls this afternoon (for really, night had been quite a while ago). Luckily for Harry, though, he was correct in his assumption that there was not a soul out there to hear him. A shame, for they missed out on a supreme display of insane merriness. 

Returning to his previous thoughts, Harry quieted down somewhat and started giving it some serious thought - well, as serious as he could get himself to be, taking into account that no matter what he tortured his brain with, it would not get him out of here and therefore thinking altogether felt somewhat pointless.

_Anyway. So, you were saying...?_ he mock-asked himself. 

Very politely, he answered:  _I was just thinking that Hermione sure could have helped me figure this one out._

A slight pain erupted in his chest at the thought of his once-friend, and he once again blinked his eyes in wonder. It seemed that his painful power rush had not only given him an affinity to stone, but had also handed him back his emotions. He was so close to actual sanity, it wasn't even funny any more.

_Damn! I didn't ask for this!_ he thought irritably. Then he rolled his eyes at his own naivety.  _Oh, do I ever...!_

_So. Back on track. Hermione._ What would she have told him about this?

 _Oh, but she DID already tell me about it!_ Suddenly, the memory came back to him. Where had it been hiding? He scanned the bushes around memory lane with his new and improved eyesight and noticed several small animals running away. _Ha! That's where!_ he thought, satisfied with his discovery.

He promised himself to go hunting for the other hidden memories some other time, and set to taking apart the one he had just found. It wriggled a bit, then it screamed, but finally it gave in and revealed to him a conversation he had had with Hermione in their fourth year.

* * *

_-_ _**flashback** _ _-_

_"But Hermione, I can't do this! They're all much older than me! How could I ever hope to even survive, much less win this stupid tournament?!"_

_Hermione gazed at him sympathetically and set about re-building his shattered self-confidence. "Don't worry so much, Harry. You'll do fine. Just concentrate real hard on your broom and it will come. Once you're up in the air, nothing can stop you. Come hell or high water!"_

_"Thanks, Hermione. You're a life-saver." He meant it._

_"Hey, that's what friends are for." She smiled as she said it. "Besides. It's not like the others were that far ahead of you, power-wise. A wizard might be declared an adult at age seventeen, but he only comes into his true heritage at eighteen."_

_"His true heritage? What do you mean?" he asked, happy to change the subject and forget about the dragon waiting to munch on him the next day. Hermione was all too happy to explain._

_"A wizard only comes into his full magical potential when he turns eighteen. Before that, he may display random gifts like the ability to become an animagus or, in your case, parseltongue and your easy handling of a broomstick; but his inherited talents, abilities that have been in the family for centuries, only really kick in when he turns eighteen - if they do at all. Often, they lie dormant for several generations. But if they do show themselves... Then you'll be even more powerful and maybe, you'll gain one or two neat new strengths."_

_"Oh great," he sighed, unable to understand her enthusiasm about the whole idea, "so there's a possibility I'll turn out to be even more of a freak than we thought so far. Whoo-hoo!"_

_"Don't be like that! You're no freak! You may not be perfectly normal, but you are not a freak! You're different in a good way, Harry, and -" She realized that she was not exactly making it better and was glad when he laughed at her sudden, furious blush._

_"Hey, who knows," he finally admitted, "maybe there'll even be something useful against Voldemort."_

* * *

_Yeah, right._

Harry looked at the bare and mouldy walls of his cell and huffed indignantly.  _So it's the end of July now. And I've been here for over a year. Niiiice. I really needed to know that._

_Sarcasm, thy name is Harry,_ his inner voice quipped. He smiled at it and patted it on the head, pleased with the compliment. 

Well, so he could truly see for the first time in his life (his glasses hadn't exactly had the right prescription - in fact, they'd been off by at least twenty percent). And he could sort of talk to the stones that imprisoned him. Cool.

_Not going to help me against Voldemort, though._

But then again, Voldemort wasn't exactly his problem any more, was he? Harry leaned back comfortably and had the weird feeling that the stones behind him shifted ever so slightly to accommodate his back in the most comfortable way. Really weird.

_Well, talking to stones doesn't rate all that high on my list of strange conversation partners, seeing as how the Grim is already on there, several snakes, as well as my past and future self plus the voices in my head - no wait, that could actually be the same ones... Not to forget a vision of Draco Malfoy. Really, talking to the stones seems fairly tame by comparison._

_So, hey stones, what's up?_

He was a bit startled at the enthusiastic response he got. The whole fortress around him grumbled and seemed to slightly shift in its foundations.

_Woah! Seems no-one bothered to talk to you in quite a while, huh?_

As a response, he got blessed with several small pebbles falling from the ceiling straight into his lap.

 _Not one to mince words, rather hands-on, are ya?_ He smiled. He had a feeling he would get along with this fortress just fine. 

* * *

Harry stretched his legs in the comfortable chair the walls had provided by re-arranging themselves. Harry had thought he heard a faint yelp from the neighbouring cell when the wall shifted, but wasn't quite sure. It wasn't like he particularly cared, either.

It had taken him several months to figure out that he could not only tell the walls stories, but actually get something from them in return. They told him about the changes of sun and starlight outside, of the people whom they held, and about their builders. One day, they asked why he had felt as if he disliked them, before he could _talk_ , and he had explained that he was in the building against his will and felt his room was rather uncomfortable at that.

Thus it had started.

By now, he had a cozy chair, a slab of stone covered in fine stone dust to make a nearly soft bed, and even a couple of weights to train his muscles with.

He was just playing with his weights, pushing them up with his feet, when the Grim popped back in.

"Oh, hi!" Harry said joyfully. It was nice to have someone else to talk to every now and then, someone who didn't think that a year was an awfully short unit for time and couldn't really grasp the concept of minutes and seconds.

The Grim growled lightly in acknowledgement of the greeting.

"So how've you been?" Harry asked politely while putting down his weights.

_Not too bad, thank you,_ the Hound of Death answered.  _How about you?_

Harry smiled at the question and began excitedly telling the huge black spectre about his conversations with the prison stones. When he trailed off at the end, the Grim shot him a strange look and asked: _So why are you still here?_

"What?" Harry had no idea what the mutt was talking about.

_Well, if you can get the walls to shift, then why aren't they shifting to let you out?_

Harry looked at him stupidly, blinked his eyes once or twice, then mouthed a soft "Oh." He had never even thought of that.

"I... I suppose I could..." he said reluctantly. "Where would I go, though?"

The Grim snorted. It was a rather undignified noise, coming from an intimidating figure like him. _As you are not going to die any time soon, you might as well have another look at the world outside before I come and get you._

"Is that so. Well." Harry was a bit annoyed with the dog. But he had stopped requesting his death after the Grim's third visit, when the spectre had told him in no uncertain terms that he was only visiting because he found the effect of Murphy's law around Harry fascinating, yet he would gladly leave and never come back if Harry kept annoying him.

The prospect of eternal life was not one Harry held dear, very much the contrary of Voldemort really, and he had decided to shut up about it then. He liked the Grim, even though the damn hound kept mocking him and his will - and incapability - to die. They had become friends of a sort.

Now the stupid creature was showing him, as it so loved to do, how stupid he had been and which mistakes he had made since his last visit. As usual, he had great fun dressing Harry down.

_Honestly! You never thought to explore your other talents?_

"What! You mean there's more?"

 _Hell yeah!_ It sounded a bit strange coming from this particular dog, but Harry didn't mind. _You are, as Dumbledore hinted in your second school year, the heir of Gryffindor - that's where you get the affinity to stone from. But you are also part-Slytherin, so you get the Parsel, and the sense of humour -_

_"Yeah, I noticed Gryffindors are somewhat lacking in that department at times."_

_Slytherin also had a wicked shape-shifting ability..._

"What? I'm a metamorphmagus?!"

_That is not what I said._ The Grim glowered, but the piercing gaze didn't particularly frighten Harry. There is only so much a human mind can take before it gives up on evaluating dangers. Harry had everything he could imagine and then some happen to him. And the Grim still refused to take him. So why should he be afraid of his friend, only because the other felt like pouting?

"So what _did_ you mean?"

_Shape-shifting. That includes easily handling the animagus transformation, possibly to more than one form. It also involves something like having several forms of yourself, like your enemy does._

"Voldemort? Oh, you mean the snake-like nostrils and red eyes are just for show?"

_The nose, yes. The eyes he got from smoking too much weed._

Harry laughed. He never knew when the beast was being serious and when he was taking the mickey, but whatever the case, he found the idea that Voldemort's megalomanical tendencies came from smoking too much of the wrong kind of leaves rather... plausible. Then again, that could be his own madness talking. He thought that, if he were to meet the Dark Lord Of the Weed again now, he might get along with him just fine.

Except for the killing part. But maybe Voldemort had just not noticed yet that killing off more than half of the population was not the right way to make wizardkind stronger?

He should tell him.

Happy with his conclusion, Harry reached out through his scar and shouted into their connection: _Voldemort, you suck! Did it ever occur to you that your methods will bring you nothing more than the eventual END of wizardkind? You're such a MORON, honestly!_

Very pleased with himself, despite the fact that there was no way Voldemort could actually have got his message, Harry grinned at the Grim. Who grinned right back.

_He heard that, you know._

"Yeah, sure. And Snape's my father, huh?"

_Actually..._

"NO! I don't want to hear it." Be it one of the Grim's pranks or one of his weird truths, if Harry was in any way related to _Snape_ , he'd much rather not know it.

A bit like Voldemort, really, who would much rather not have heard the message Harry had startled him with in the middle of a meeting with his Death Eaters. Especially because of the note of truth that stuck to Harry's voice while it made Voldemort's ears ring.

_Damn that brat!_

 


	3. Three is Company

"So you're saying they are truly here?"

_Just ask the stones for guidance, they'll tell you._

Harry did just that.

After several days of stalling and idle talk, the Grim had finally convinced him to come out of his hole and go exploring. The dog was excited to see more improbable things happen around Harry, and the chances for that were so much better outside, where he had to interact with people, so he had tried to convince the young man to leave his prison.

It was only when he dropped a comment about Ron, Hermione and Draco Malfoy being in Azkaban, too, that he got a reaction from Harry. Was the Grim just toying with him, as he usually did, or speaking truth this time?

 _Curiosity kills the cat_ , he thought idly. _Fitting._

It appeared that his animagus form (or one of them, if the Grim were to be trusted) was that of a black griffin. Maybe as a big cat, he could get himself killed...?

 _Not a chance in hell_ , the Grim told him merrily.

"Spoil-sport," Harry grumbled. "You are no fun."

_But you are._

"Meanie."

They had fought like that for nearly an hour while the stones around them rearranged themselves to permit Harry access to the hall outside his cell. In spite of being reluctant to let him go, the stones were really working quite fast today.

Now they were walking down the hall, merrily bantering and snapping at each other. The Dementors stirred clear of them: The Grim was a God to these creatures, and as such enjoyed their admiration and fear. They would not approach him unbidden.

"Over here...", Harry murmured as he followed the whispering of the stones, one hand trailing along the wall. Finally, they got to the bars of a cell that looked to be at least twice as big as his, and actually had beds in it. Well, of course it did: They were two levels higher up, around here, the rooms even had windows. Likely, his former friends had _not_ been accused of murder, so it made sense for them to be up here. As to Malfoy, though, he had no clue.

"Hey guys, what's up?" he asked casually.

The three figures that had been huddled together in a dejected pose on one of the beds jumped in shock.

"They don't look too good, you know..." Harry told the Grim.

The black hound barked a harsh laugh and told him: _They are just about ready to jump off the cliff and go stir crazy. They've been here about long enough now to really, really lose it._

"Really, really, really lose it?"

_Sure._

"Like I did?"

_Well, okay, so maybe not really, really, REALLY lose it..._

Harry laughed. The three figures on the bed shot him frightened looks. One of them stood up and slowly, carefully approached the door. "Harry...? Is that you?!"

"Hi Hermione! Yep, sure is. So, you about to go crazy?" he asked in a conversational tone. He had no idea how crazy that made him sound. Hermione backed off.

"Harry?" That was Ron. "How come you are here? And who... who have you been talking to?"

"Sounds coherent enough to me," Harry told the Grim. "They're not even _really, really_ crazy."

His voice was reproachful. "I mean, look at them, I think they can't even see you yet."

_That is most definitely true._

"So obviously they can't be even _half_ as crazy as me, seeing as how they are

1\. not talking to you

2\. not talking to the bloody stones and

3\. don't even seem to have conversations with the nice voices in their heads.

"Hell, I bet they've never even _seen_ Memory Lane!!!"

The three people in the room looked at Harry with wide eyes. "Potter... you've completely gone 'round the bent, haven't you?" This frightened voice would belong to one Draco Malfoy.

"See?" Harry said triumphantly. "They think so too! I'm the craziest one, beyond a shadow of a doubt!!!"

_Alright, alright, point ceded!_

"Yes!" Harry jumped up and stuck his fist in the air. "I win!"

* * *

It was quite a while later that Harry had made his way into the cell. The Grim slouched down beside him and pretended to doze off, so that Harry would stop talking to him for some time. It was fun seeing him shake his friends' trust in the explainability of the world, but if he ever wanted the kid to move out of the prison, he'd have to let him actually talk to the people.

And talk they did.

Turns out Malfoy had heard of Harry's trial only at the beginning of the next school year and had stormed straight from Snape to Ron and Hermione, them being the only people in the school he trusted not to turn him in to either side. Indeed, when they heard of Harry's motivation, they reluctantly agreed to work together with him to set Harry free.

They established the fact that Dumbledore had indeed known of the abuse the Dursleys heaped on Harry - _though not all of it, no-one knows all of it_ , Harry had thought warily - and had still left Harry there as part of an elaborate scheme that only made sense to his lemon drop-addled brains.

They had also ruled out their teachers and the ministry as possible allies, as all of them catered to either Dumbledore's or Fudge's wishes, and though they couldn't quite decide at that point which of the two actually was worse, they were very sure that their request for Harry's freedom was not in good hands with either.

So they had done what the Hogwarts trio had always done (even though one of the members had changed drastically): they had decided to take matters into their own hands. Unfortunately, because of said drastic change, the uncanny luck that had been part of all their adventures thus far, making the impossible probable, had deserted them and instead of rescuing Harry, they'd landed themselves in Azkaban.

"Great job," Harry told them, amazed at so much stupidity.

Hermione and Malfoy glared at him. "We did it for you, you jerk!"

Harry laughed. It was good to have friends. "I know. Sorry. I'm not very socially competent right now. As I said before, the only ones I've talked to recently were stones, a mean black ghost dog, and of course me, myself and I... So forgive me for being somewhat blunt at times.

"I also think my brains have seriously suffered ever since school let out about a year ago, so... Just don't expect me to make too much sense, okay?" He said all that in a rather light and cheerful voice, for really, that was quite how he currently felt.

Hermione promptly burst into tears.

Harry watched her a bit, curious, then decided he didn't quite know what to make of her and turned to a puzzled Draco Malfoy instead. Who told him: "Whew, you've changed rather a lot, Potter."

It was definitely true. He was sprouting more nonsense than Loony Lovegood on radishes, his clothes were so worn-out and torn (from transforming) they were basically non-existent and gave a nice, clear view of his meagre, scar-covered body. His hair had grown out to not quite hip length, and his formerly troubled, spectacle-framed, often subdued eyes sparkled merrily.

He had changed alright.

He had also lost all of his former inhibitions. "So. Was that really you visiting me last summer?"

Draco gulped. The memory was not exactly a good one. "Uh-hu." Not very malfoyish. But then, sitting in a prison cell with two Gryffindors and one madman was not very malfoyish, either. His father would never associate with Gryffindors.

Draco, in fact, did far more than simply associate with them. They had sort of... grown on him in the course of their combined efforts to get Harry free. And then, in this little cell, together, for several months... Long story short: He got over his crush on Harry and was by now officially dating both Ron and Hermione. Well, official within the confines of their cell, anyway.

Harry took a while to catch on to this little fact, but when he did, he laughed and told them it was brilliant, maybe they still had a chance at getting as mad as he was. They sure had made a good start into it.

  
  



	4. Childhood Friend

It was an unfortunate coincidence, or maybe fortunate, it really all depends on the angle from which you look at events, that Voldemort had chosen precisely this day to storm Azkaban prison and break free his loyal followers.

Harry, while chattering happily with his three year mates who still couldn't quite believe that Harry had just come waltzing into their cell, apparently with the sole intent and purpose to talk a bit, then retreat to his cell, when really all of them _could_ (and quite possibly should) have been running from the prison and to safety right this moment. It was crazy. But what had they expected from him after what they had seen at his trial?

Not this, that was for sure.

And neither that he would suddenly jump up and run as if all hounds of hell were behind him, without so much as a word. Well, as he saw it, a hound of hell _was_ trailing his every step, but that was beside the point.

They caught up with Harry when he stepped outside onto the walkway along the teeth of the prison wall, from where they had a fantastic view on the great doors of the prison, as well as the whole ground before it, down to the shore. That very piece of land was currently swarming with Death Eaters. Some of them were trying to tease the doors into opening, while others busied themselves with a futile attempt to blast a hole through the ancient walls. It was these explosions that had alerted Harry to their presence. The stones quite resented them.

Harry gave a girlish giggle and pronounced: "Oh look! It's my knights in shining armour!"

Ron gave him an incredulous stare. "Harry! That is You-know-who out there! How can you be so bloody cheerful?!"

Harry smiled benignly and corrected: "The name is Voldemort, Ron. Honestly, I thought you would know that by now..."

"Harry! This is not funny."

Something strange happened after this statement. For a moment, something in Harry seemed to shatter. The sparkling light in his eyes went out and a shiver ran down his body. He seemed to shrink as his shoulders dropped and he drew in on himself. The three other teenagers watched, fighting a rising panic, how Harry fell apart before their very eyes while Death Eaters were viciously attacking the walls of the prison.

They had wanted those walls to fall many times over the last six months or so, but now that there was a very real possibility that they might, all of them found themselves wishing the walls would hold out a bit longer after all.

Suddenly, Harry seemed to snap out of whatever it had been that got to him. He lifted his head and met Ron's fearful, round eyes with a level stare. His voice was cold when he spoke.

"I know. I know it's not even remotely funny, Ron. But I cannot survive that way. You know how much the Dementors have affected me in third year; all of you do. You know, then, how much my parents dying was a horrible memory for me. Well, I do not hear them any longer."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with a sinking feeling.

"The Dementors don't call up the memories of Voldemort killing my parents, these days. Now, whenever the Dementors come close, I see my uncle. I live though what he did to me this summer. There are so many memories there, they stay with me for hours after the Dementors have left."

Draco averted his eyes. He had told the two Gryffindors what he had seen in Privet Drive, yet seeing it and being told were two entirely different things. But, _feeling_ it... And to hear Harry talk, what he had seen had likely not even been the half of it.

"I have gone insane," Harry stated quietly. "There is no denying it. Yet I feel myself inclined to cling to this madness; it really is all that keeps me going. If you believe that I'm too dangerous like this, then maybe you are right; feel free to get very far away from me as soon as we get out of here... I am sorry, I truly am.

"However" - here, his voice took on a sharper edge - "I would strongly recommend you stick to me to get through _that_." Here, he pointed at the furious Death Eaters below them with a thumb thrown over his shoulder; not even looking down.

"As it stands, I am your safest bet to get out of here alive. Whether he's real or a mere figment of my imagination, the Grim here" - he made a gesture as if he were petting some large animal by his side - "can very effectively keep the Dementors at bay. And I do believe that my madness is similar to Voldemort's own, so I might actually be able to call a cease-fire between the two of us, which you would benefit from by proxy."

His intent gaze met them and his red-rimmed eyes burned themselves into theirs. "Are you with me?"

Slowly, one after the other the three Hogwarts students nodded their heads. What other options did they have? Crazy as he may seem, right now Harry was perfectly lucid and what he said made more sense than any of them could have liked. For good or for ill, their only chance at surviving this was if Voldemort let them go. Only Harry could make that happen. Their crazy Harry.

"Alright mate, let's do this," Ron said with a shaky voice. Harry's answer was a tiny little smile, like a hobbit stepping onto an elven boat. It blossomed in the corners of his mouth, pulling them ever so slightly towards his eyes.

Then the sparkle returned to said eyes and his whole tenure and facial expression changed completely. With a large, happy grin he shouted "Geronimooooooooooooooooooooo!" and jumped up on the banisters.

"Here we go," Hermione said grimly. Draco could only nod.

* * *

It is not hard to imagine the Death Eaters' confusion when their assault on the unyielding prison walls was stopped by a merry voice shouting down toward them from the top of the fortifications. "Oi, you there, yes, you, the evil people in the black robes? Mr. Super Evil Person? _Voldemort_?"

That certainly got their attention. Gradually, the noises all around died down as their Lord made his way toward the wall to stand below the strange figure daring to call his name at the top of their lungs.

"Who are you," he shouted up, "and what do you want?"

Happy laughter pearled down clearly from the young man standing on top of the damn wall that was hindering their progress. Then the strange young man spoke. "Really, Tom, I've been gone little more than a year, and you're already forgetting me?!"

Only one person had the gall to address him in such a despicably familiar and cheeky way. "Potter!"

"Too right, snake-face, that'd be me!" the boy laughed merrily, looking for all the world as if he were merely trading niceties with his neighbour over a fine cup of tea. That reminded him. "Say, you couldn't have announced your visit earlier? I was just about to head out for a stroll when you knocked..."

Maybe some of the Death Eaters were shocked that Harry Potter apparently ran free once more; others might find the fact disturbing that he addressed their concerted efforts to tear down the fortress as 'knocking on the door'. Voldemort himself, however, was seething mad at the simple fact that once again, Harry Potter was getting in the way of his plans.

"Obnoxious brat!" he shouted up at the raven-haired teen. "You will die for your insolence!"

Far from being frightened by that prospect, the teenager merely raised one brow and looked down at something his side of the wall.

"I will?" he asked, curious.

Apparently, someone was answering, for a sigh could be heard shortly thereafter and the figure standing on the wall turned back to the Death Eaters and their Lord, muttering something that sounded like "Empty promises... hate those... stupid bat was always making them, too... Stupid dog."

The voice picked up some more volume at that. "Why? Why can't he just be right? Why do I have to live - _again_?" The way he said it resembled in an eerie way any other normal teenager complaining to their mother about having to clean their rooms or some other minor inconvenience.

"Who are you talking to?" Voldemort demanded.

"My Grim," Harry shouted back in between his muttering and displeased looks down to where, supposedly, the Hound of Death was standing.

The Death Eaters shifted nervously; Voldemort, however, looked suddenly interested. "Could you please ask him to come up beside you so I can see him?"

"Sure."

The Dark Lord's eyes went wide when a big, black dog leaped up onto the wall right next to the teen. "Growler?!" the Evil Dark Lord asked incredulously. The Grim lolled his tongue and yipped happily.

Harry pumped his fist in the air, crying: "YES! I knew it!!!"

Voldemort looked at him again, startled. "You knew what?"

Harry, conscious of their audience and not sure how much Voldemort would want his followers to know about the Dark Lord's state of mind, switched to parseltongue then.

::I knew you had the same mental disease I do,:: he explained. ::You see the same things, have the same twisted thought processes... I think you might even have the same reasons I do.::

::This is interesting. What reasons are you referring to?::

Harry smiled mirthlessly. ::Ever heard of Vernon Dursley?::

::No.::

::Well. I suppose they really did keep everything awfully hush-hush at my trial; sweet, aren't they?::, he simpered. ::Anyway, so Vernon Dursley is - was - my uncle, the person I had the misfortune of being related to. You know, I really resent that you killed my parents. That way, I got stuck with _them_. Ah, that reminds me: In case you should kill me today in spite of what our mutual friend here says:: - a growl let them both know it was bloody unlikely. ::Still, in case I kick the bucket before you, would you grant me a last wish? Sort of a way of saying thank you to me for fulfilling that freakin' prophecy?::

Voldemort looked suspicious, but then he nodded pensively. ::What would it entail?::

::Nothing you wouldn't have done regardless. I just want to make sure you kill the rest of my family for me, Vernon's wife and son. They. Stood. By. And did nothing! I want them gone, as completely as he is. Make them suffer. It's all I ask.::

Voldemort was more than a little surprised at this. He had heard of the Potter boy's trial, of course, but to hear his spies talk, it would have seemed that Potter had simply gone crazy one day and randomly attacked his family.

 _Well,_ he thought wryly, _I guess they got that wrong..._

::I can do that.::

"Brilliant!" Harry shouted gleefully. The Death Eaters, as well as Harry's friends, had no idea what had been going on. The exuberant teen bouncing from the wall and humming happily startled them quite a bit. "I'll be right down to meet you, Tom, hang in there for a second," were his last words before he stormed off towards the staircase that led to the courtyard and the gates.

"There you go," Harry announced gleefully as he pushed open the heavy gates of Azkaban to let in a hoard of armed and dangerous Death Eaters. "Now, we can talk some more while your people do their jobs. After all, you're on a tight schedule, aren't you?" He smiled at Voldemort and casually asked the fortress to cooperate with the boulders lying about the beach to create some sort of seating for him, Voldemort and his friends.

Voldemort ordered his Death Eaters to go and do what they'd come to do, while he had his chat with Potter. Only a dozen or so of his followers were kept close at hand. It was easy to see they must be his most trusted. He followed Harry Potter a bit further down the beach toward a stone table with chairs around it that hadn't caught his eye when he first got here. Nearly as if Potter had only just created the little conference setting. But the boy didn't seem to even have a wand.

All thoughts of wandless magic and plans of treachery evaded his mind as the black dog he'd seen earlier bounded out the gates of Azkaban prison, barking happily and rubbing his head against Potter's legs. Potter reached down a hand to pet the Grim, smiling.

"Growler?" Voldemort asked again, hesitant, as if he couldn't quite believe his luck. The dog yipped once more, then it came over to rub against Voldemort's legs as it had done with Harry.

"So you two are familiar with each other?" Harry asked politely.

"Yes, actually," Voldemort told the teen sitting across from him, while the other Hogwarts students carefully remained standing at a safe distance. "We are childhood friends - my childhood, that is, not his."

Harry laughed. "Yes, I hadn't assumed you were quite that old, either."

 _I am NOT old!_ the Grim huffed.

"Second childhood, then?" Voldemort teased. Harry's laughter increased while the Grim made a face as if he were pouting. His tongue soon returned to loll out of his mouth in barely hidden amusement.

"Why do you call him 'growler'?" Harry tried to satisfy his curiosity. Voldemort looked a bit embarrassed as he answered: "I was _very_ little when we first met, and had never heard of the Grim... I mean, hey, I had to call him something!"

"Why didn't you tell him your name?" Harry asked the Grim.

 _'Grim' is only a title, as well, you know_ , the Grim answered. _I don't care what you call me, I still know when you're talking to me._

"I guess you're right," Harry conceded.

_I always am._

"Not true!" Harry and Voldemort protested in unison, then looked at each other in astonishment. Their laughter soon drifted all the way over to Harry's friends who were beginning to believe that You-know-who and Harry did indeed share the same kind of madness.

"What's your story?" Voldemort asked curiously.

Harry smiled at him. "Well, just today, he told me where I could find my friends, and that they were about as crazy as I am. I got him to concede that I was crazier than all of them combined when I'm at my most sane."

Voldemort nodded his acknowledgement of Harry's achievement. Both men knew perfectly well how hard it was to catch the large supernatural dog at one of his half-truths.

"And what's yours?" Harry inquired of his once-enemy.

Now it was Voldemort's time to smile. It was a strange sight on his usually evil face. He looked outright scary in his friendliness. Hermione, Ron and Draco took an involuntary step backwards.

"Have you ever tried to get him to take you away?"

"Sure have! All summer last year, actually, and every summer before that, as well..."

"Well, then you know he always denies that particular request. He seems to find it quite amusing, too." Both men frowned at the dog who just wagged his tail and played innocent.

"But... you're alive still, so how was he wrong?" Harry was confused.

Voldemort's smile showed he was very satisfied with himself. "I could not convince him to take me, that is true; I was dependant on his whims. I dislike dependence, so I decided if I cannot _make_ him take me, then I would not _let_ him, either."

"You refused to be taken?!" Harry was shocked. "Why would you want to do that?"

 _To spite me, of course._ The Grim was still smiling. 

"And you succeeded?"

"You should know that well enough."

"Oh... yeah, I guess I do." Harry thought back to that night when he became the 'boy-who-lived'. It was not a happy memory, but now that he had this additional information about the point Voldemort had proven, it didn't quite rankle as much as it used to any more. It was certainly a noteworthy achievement.

"Are you going to deny him further?" he asked curiously.

"Sure."

"Why? You've proven your point."

"Oh, don't worry, it's no longer just to annoy _him,_ " Voldemort was quick to assure him. "Now, I want to prove that my life is _not_ dictated by a bloody prophecy."

"Hey, great idea! Can I join in?"

Voldemort measured him with a taxing glance. "Hmm... you _are_ involved in that one as well, aren't you?"

Harry nodded happily.

"Do you know the full prophecy?"

He nodded again.

"Tell me?"

"Bah, it's not all that great. _Neither can live while the other survives._ Really boils down to the fact that we're the only two people in the world that are able to kill either one of us. We both know how successful we are in killing ourselves - you have tried, right?"

A nod.

"Thought so. So, you see, only you are able to kill me, and only I can kill you. Stupid, eh? The probability of being hit by a car is ten times higher than taking a killing curse to the chest and actually _dying_ from it; at least in my case, it is... despite all your merry men using me for target practice."

Voldemort laughed good-naturedly. "Sorry about that."

"'s alright, I suppose..."

"Friends?"

"Sure!"

They shook hands.

The Death Eaters and students standing around, safely out of earshot, yet close enough to follow the Dark Lord and Boy-who-lived's every move, looked at each other with confusion written clearly all over their faces.

"So the prophecy didn't state that you are going to kill me, just that you _can_?"

"Yup. Stupid, if you ask me." Harry recited the whole thing for Voldemort.

"Wait a moment - that means, in order to spite the prophecy, I don't have to just stay alive, I also have to make sure that you live."

"Oh. I suppose you're right."

"Well? Are you going to go along with that?"

"Heh. It's not like I had anything better to do. Besides, _Growler_ here wouldn't let me die just yet anyway." He glowered at the Grim who gave a happy yip.

"Great! Now, about what you said earlier this week..."

"You _did_ hear that?!"

"U-huh. Quite annoyed me, too."

"Wow, I didn't expect to get through. - Yes, I know you told me so!" He shot a glare at the condescending smile on the black dog's visage. Then he focused back on Voldemort. "Do you think we could possibly talk mind to mind?"

"We already did, didn't we?"

"Consciously, I mean. So far, it was mostly dreams and visions - and that one accident. But... now that we don't need to hide from each other any more...?"

_Like this, you mean?_

"Not you," Harry told the Grim.

 _No, that was me_.  Voldemort glared at him. 

_Oh. Wasn't quite expecting that._

_...So it worked?_

_Sure did._

All three of them smiled.


	5. Domestic Bliss

Later that day, there was a huge victory party in the Dark Lord's lair, with all the Death Eaters from Azkaban celebrating their freedom, and their loved ones (or abused ones, as the case may be) celebrating (or pretending to celebrate) their return.

Harry made use of the general good mood to vanish with a couple of young and good-looking supporters, a guy and a girl. They did not return for several hours. When finally they did reappear, Voldemort raised a brow at Harry.

"Why are you grinning like a cheshire cat?"

"Because I am, and I did. I just had sex for the very first time in my life."

"Harry.. but you... your uncle..." Voldemort actually managed to look puzzled and uncomfortable. Although he looked a bit hazy in general, so maybe that was why.

"THAT was rape," Harry quickly corrected him, "but this is sex. Those are two completely different things!!! ...Now, will you give me some of that? I need to work on my Evil Dark Lord eyes."

And he snatched the spliff from Voldemort's hands.

* * *

A few days later, everyone had settled back into their old routines. Only, they now included Harry.

"What are you doing?!" Voldemort snatched the huge carving knife out of Harry's hands and paid the young man's mangled thigh a shocked glance.

Harry merely shrugged, in a rather non-committal way. "I felt like I really needed that scar. Nearly every abuse fic has it, you know, either on the chest or the back?" He suddenly grinned a mad little grin. "But I wanted to be original, so I thought I'd do my leg..."

There, on Harry's right  thigh , bloody red lines neatly spelled out the word FREAK. In capital letters. 

Voldemort pulled out the script and looked at it for a while. "Isn't it usually done by your relatives, though?"

Harry's face grew serious as he considered that point. Blood merrily dripped down his sliced-open leg all the while. "You're right, of course" he eventually admitted. "However, I thought it was stylish to have one, and my uncle must have forgotten to do it, you know? He was too busy doing...uh..." - Harry also checked the script - " _things a child my age never should have to suffer_ to me, no wait, _making sure I never had a childhood_ , or " - he flipped a page - "how's this? _treating me worse than a Malfoy house elf._ Hah, I like that one!"

Harry conjured a bright neon yellow marker and liberally spread the colour over his favourite quote. He looked quite pleased with himself.

A flurry of wings announced that some of the thestrals in the area thought Harry was the new fast-food restaurant in town. When they started licking at his wounds, Harry finally seemed to notice the blood and damaged skin tissue. "Would you look at that!" he exclaimed.

* * *

Harry was seated on a dais, in a simple wooden chair, but right next to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was telling his Death Eaters how the Boy-Who-Lived had gone insane and was quite happy never to return to the side of light. With this major threat eliminated, Voldemort bragged, nothing would stop them on their way to power. The Death Eaters cheered, Voldemort laughed madly, and Harry tipped his chair back as far as it would go without overbalancing.

Or so he thought, until he crashed to the floor where he remained for a couple of minutes, blinking owlishly at the gathered Death Eaters, his face slowly splitting into a goofy grin at the disbelieving faces they pulled.

Throughout the meeting, this scene was replayed several times, until Harry finally got bored with his balancing game.

Voldemort currently had his back turned to Harry, so he did not notice the contemplative look that settled on the teenager's face.

He did, however, notice the _Avada Kedavra_ that was shot at him from behind his back; and just in time, too. Evading the deadly curse by dragging a nearby Death Eater into its path in his stead, he drew his wand and hissed angrily: "Potter! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Harry cocked his head, considering the dead Death Eater prostrate at their feet, and answered calmly: "Oh, well, I just had a thought. You may be friends with Growler, too, but you are still the person who killed my parents. So I should probably kill you. 'sides, since we negated the prophecy, I'm once more free to kill or be killed as I please, right?"

Voldemort was furious. "You want to die, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Right now? Not particularly, no. That's why I tried to kill you, instead. You know, _neither can live_ and all that rubbish. Figured I'd just try and see what happens if the prophecy is still in effect, and fulfil it. Maybe life will get better, then?"

Voldemort did not take long to decide on a course – or rather: a curse – of action. Deadly green light shot out of his wand towards the annoying, and somehow still dangerous child that was once again challenging him.

"Accio rat," Potter surprised him by saying. Voldemort wasn't sure who was more surprised – him, Potter or Pettigrew, who had been summoned by the spell and was now hit full-on by the Killing Curse. But he was fairly certain of who had enjoyed it the most: Potter was laughing his head off and had apparently forgotten all about him being the intended target of the deadly curse.

" _Accio...rat...,"_ he laughed. _"...got Wormtail... even though he was in_ human _form!!! ... just goes to show... that he truly was a rat..."_

Once again, Harry overbalanced in his chair and keeled over. And just as well he did: had his head remained in place for a split-second longer, the Dark Lord's follow-up curse would have hit him dead on. Instead, it hit yet another Death Eater who was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After such a display of random killing, one might have thought the Death Eaters invigorated and ready to go out and slaughter some muggles; but no. For some completely strange and outrageous reason, they did not enjoy random torture, maiming and killing as much if it was turned on themselves and their comrades.

In fact, they had been somewhat disenchanted with their Lord ever since his rebirth (Voldemort 2.0: crazier, crueller and more hell-bent than ever on torturing friend and foe alike!) and many of them were even now considering their options.

One of them finished considering this very day, in the precise minute it took for the third casualty of the night to crumble and hit the floor. Said Death Eater, who shall not be named for reasons of privacy, unobtrusively made his way to the front and while other Death Eaters were preparing to aid their Lord, should he need it, this one carefully raised his wand and with a precise shot – killed Voldemort.

Harry blinked.

"Umh. Okay. Great."

Then he screamed as the scar on his forehead started pulsating and throbbing like the mother of all migraines.

When it was done, he glared at the Grim who had once more appeared to laugh at him. "What'cha laughing at?!"

"You, of course," the huge dog answered.

Harry grumbled discontentedly. "That's nothing new, and you know it. Still, is there a special occasion or are you just so happy to see your favourite victim?"

The Grim's tongue lolled far out of his mouth in doggy laughter before he deigned to answer. "I'm just so proud to have managed swapping you two around – killing the one who desperately wanted to live and keeping the one alive who really doesn't want to. I'm glad you negated the prophecy by teaming up for a while, otherwise I could never have done it!"

Harry pouted.

So did the spectral vision of Tom Riddle hovering next to the Grim and looking very much not like Harry's father.

"Ah, come on, don't be like that," the Grim barked out. He had come to like Harry and Voldemort, and while the latter would now be with him for a rather long period of time, he'd barely get to see the other one in the days and months to come. He didn't want to spoil it by seeing Harry looking so serious.

"Hey, at least I have given you toys."

Harry, who had been in the process of demonstratively turning away from the Grim, slowly turned back. Were he a cat, his ears would have been twitching. Even so, his human body had all of its hairs standing up from the skin at a ninety degree angle with curiosity.

"What toys?"

The Grim gave him another doggy grin and with a wave of his snout indicated the Death Eaters, many of whom were staring at their arms in disbelief. "They're yours, now."

Harry blinked. Shook his head. Blinked again.

Then a wicked grin slowly spread over his features.

* * *

The Death Eaters did not start dying for several years.

Harry enjoyed himself immensely, giving them nonsensical and hugely embarrassing orders, all of which they had to follow or suffer his wrath directly through their marks. And Harry actually was crazy enough that he quite enjoyed making the Death Eaters feel said wrath any chance he got.

However, eventually Harry Potter discovered youtube.

It was in the year of 2013 that the first Death Eater committed suicide. He had been forced to watch the 10h version of _nyancat_ , followed by the 10h version of the _Fox Song_ and the 10h version of _Trolling Saruman_. Eventually, he had begged for mercy.

Unfortunately for him, Harry Potter, who had watched the full 30 hours along with him, was still dissolving into helpless giggles every single time Saruman fell from his tower and did not hear his plea.

Nor could the Death Eater escape his orders by killing his new Lord; in a rare moment of clarity, Harry had asked Hermione for a spell to make his minions incapable of raising a wand against the Lord controlling their marks. Being Hermione, she had of course enjoyed the chance to research something for her dear old friend from school, who was apparently competent of keeping the Death Eaters out of their usual mayhem. Anything for Harry.

So now, the poor Death Eater saw only one way out. He promptly _AK_ 'd himself.

That finally shook Harry out of his fit of giggles. He sighed, frustrated. Now he'd have to find another companion with whom to watch _nyancat_ again. Youtube was just so much more fun if you watched it together with someone who appreciated it just as much...

It was around the middle of 2014 that the last Death Eater left this plane of existence.

Harry aimlessly wandered the empty halls of the Dark Lord's castle for a while before getting bored. Leaving his existence as a Dark Lord behind without a single backward glance, he apparated away to stroll along Diagon Alley.

* * *

It was a fine, sunny day when he bumped into Luna Lovegood again.

"Harry! I see the wrackspurts have finally gotten you," she said sadly.

"You said it, so it must be true," he replied equally sadly.

"But you know what?" she asked, leaning toward him as though about to share a great secret.

"What?"

"They got me too," she whispered.

They shared a fairly insane giggle.

Then they wandered off, arm in arm into the sunset.

And they lived crazily ever after.

  
  


~*0.x The End ó.Ò*~

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. ^^ If so, a review would be much appreciated...  
> A note, to give credit where credit is due: I believe I first came across the idea of 'torture by tv' in Cassandra Claire's Very Secret Diaries, where she forced Gollum to watch Flipper, if I remember correctly. :P  
> \- Dime


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